Then he examines me, but my dick is dead and he quits, or he just nods off. He examines my wife’s breasts under her shirt as she sleeps. My wife and I work at the big college.” A train clunks past in a slow blur. A shirtless man on the opposite gulch slope has a silent nightmare on a box spring. The three of us heap among the bottles and cushions and treadless tires. Maryanne’s thinking about anything but the pain in her teeth. “My co-pay,” he says, and feeds the needle between his toe flesh. I feel the not-feeling of its second happy half before my eyes roll back. “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of my eyes.”īut he does stop. I vomit a vision of a church, her in a white status quo. She crouches and twists like a living algebra equation. Her sweat recedes into her spongey parts. I look away and hold my breath as he plunges the needle into Maryanne’s side-throat.
It’s freezing in the doctor’s office, it’s freezing in the sun. The doctor holds it up to the light between the gap of wet plywood and tarp and flicks it. I’m too squeamish.” I hand him a hypodermic. So I push her in our shopping cart along the tracks in the gulch to see the doctor. Then Maryanne vomits, suddenly very sick again.
Soul gravity lab rats skin#
I itch, I sweat, I crawl out of my skin with it. We could bite off each other’s fingers, a decade of devouring love. “It’s just hibernating, David,” she says, and laughs.
Tin cans chasing the car bumper all the way home.
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